The D'Karon Apprentice

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “There. Safe and sound,” Turiel said, patting Ivy on the back. “You should have told me you had problems with heights. I believe I could have made the bridge a bit wider.”

  “You…” Ivy said, more of a flutter in her voice than she would have liked, “you could have built a bridge the whole time?”

  “If I’d had a mind to, dear,” Turiel said, leaning heavily on her staff as she continued back toward the fort. Again, each creature scattered across the island that lay in her path rose to its feet just long enough to clear the way, then clattered lifeless again to the ground.

  “Then why didn’t you? Why did you let these… things fall, or leave them to wait?” Ivy asked.

  “I have no interest in spreading chaos or misery, Ivy. I simply wanted the creatures to live again. It was silly of me though. I was hasty. Both in my zeal to awaken these sleeping masterpieces and in my reaction to you. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

  “Mistakes were made,” Ivy said steadily.

  “These… these creatures. The more I study them, the more I understand that he’d not taken the time to finish them. Each was a test, a sample. I could work for months to craft such things from whole cloth. It would have taken me ages to create the things within this fort. But as fine as they were, they were incomplete. Limited. They were not ready to live on their own, and it would take more strength than I have to keep them living. I squandered too much just to wake them. But in my studies, I realized that just as I had expected too much of them, I had expected too much of you. You were unfinished, dear. Far more so than I’d realized. You were abandoned for this reason or that before you were complete. That is why you behave as you do. That is why you don’t understand what I’ve done and why. That is how the adversaries were able to claim you, to turn you to their cause. I should have been more patient with you. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “It depends on what sort of answers you can give me,” Ivy said.

  “Of course. Ask. I am an open book. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to know that I helped you to become the work of art that you were meant to be, so I will naturally do my best to aid your development.”

  Ivy breathed slowly and wracked her brain for the best way to proceed. This woman was… off-putting. Now she’d slipped back to her matronly demeanor, but there was no telling when she’d become a murderous lunatic again. Could Ivy risk asking immediately? Should she play the part and ask her simple questions first?

  As Ivy’s mind raced, Turiel faltered, stumbling as her leg buckled. Mott darted forward, offering his head to catch her. In spite of herself, Ivy approached to help as well. She didn’t care if it was an act or not, something about Turiel suddenly seemed so frail now, so broken.

  “What happened to you?” Ivy asked. “You look… so much older now than you did…”

  “The spirits take their toll, dear. The spirits take their toll.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Magic is a mix of one’s own spirit and those sympathetic to one’s aims. If you embrace those spirits as I have, it adds great potency to one’s spells.”

  “But my friends cast spells like yours all the time, and they don’t age so.”

  “Magic such as mine… it attracts the sort of spirit who drinks quite greedily in exchange for its aid. But the aid is often worth it. Don’t worry about me, dear. My best years are behind me at the moment. But it’s a simple trick to get them back when I need to. I overreached a bit, that is all.”

  “But how? How can you turn back the years?”

  “Magic, my dear. Always magic. The same current that drains the land may feed it if properly directed. My focus has always been the passage of life to death and death to life. What can be done to another can be done to oneself. I gave rather deeply of my strength, but a bit of time to focus myself or, failing that, a willing donor of a few years will give me youth enough to continue comfortably.”

  “A donor.”

  “Oh, yes. The young squander their years. Better to let someone with the wisdom to put them to good use take them instead.”

  “That’s… awful,” Ivy said.

  “It really isn’t so unpleasant,” Turiel said. “Oh… heavens. You mean for the donor. Yes, I imagine it can be a bit jarring. But it is all for a good cause.”

  “And that cause is… bringing back the D’Karon.”

  “One can hardly imagine a higher purpose.”

  “But I’ve told you, the D’Karon are evil,” Ivy said.

  Turiel turned to Ivy and shook her head sadly. “I know you believe that. The adversaries had their way with your mind. We’ll untie those knots… Though I must say, from what I’ve seen… the D’Karon haven’t left the legacy I would have anticipated.”

  “They coaxed the world into centuries of war!” Ivy said.

  “Centuries is a bit of an overstatement, dear, but much as I was hesitant to believe it, the proof seems quite irrefutable.”

  “Knowing that, why would you ever bring them here again?”

  “They must have had their reasons. Perhaps they were attempting to teach us a lesson about the futility of war?” Turiel said.

  “… By forcing us to kill each other without ever allowing it to end?”

  “The most difficult lessons require the firmest hand,” Turiel said.

  “You don’t really believe that’s true, do you? You can’t possibly believe this war was for our own good!”

  “Calm yourself, dear. We wouldn’t want you losing yourself,” she said, patting Ivy gently on the back. “But no. I’ll allow that the war is a rather… disconcerting development. However, all the better reason to bring them back to us. No surer way to find the truth than to ask!”

  “But why is it worth that risk!?”

  “Why? Oh, Ivy. Look at you! Yes, they’ve done some terrible things, and I hope to one day understand why such things were necessary, but look at what they can do when they turn their minds to it.” Turiel stopped and took Ivy’s hand, holding it up and spreading her fingers. “Look at the beauty, the precision. They made you, and yet you are every bit as right and proper in this world as a being born of nature. They do the work of the gods, Ivy.” She released Ivy’s hand and brushed back the malthrope’s hood to stroke her hair. “And they weren’t even through. You are approaching perfection and were just the beginning of their skills. They could work wonders for us. Teach use to do such incredible things. I submit that unlocking power like that is worth any price.”

  “But why do you need it? Why does anyone need power like that?”

  Turiel’s expression became distant. “We all have our reasons…”

  “Tell me. Tell me your reasons. Tell me what you believe made all of the death they brought worthwhile?”

  “Bah!” Turiel said, almost playfully. “Death? Death is nothing to fear. Nothing to mourn. Death is a door we all must pass through. Death, my dear, is the proper way of things. We shall all spend much more of our existence in the gentle embrace of death than in the madness of life. War is a terrible thing, but not for the death it brings. It is awful for the damage it causes, and for the time it wastes. Life is precious, and it is precious because it is so brief and scarce. There are far better ways to spend it than to hasten the death of others for no reasons other than politics and principle. Better we should use our years to discover great things, to do great things. And when greatness, true wonder and greatness, is cut short, that is the tragedy of death.”

  Turiel’s foot struck a patch of ice and she stumbled again. Ivy kept her on her feet.

  “I’m sorry, dear. And thank you. I just can’t seem to keep my feet under me. Let us get inside, if you don’t mind. Better to finish our chat there, away from the wind.”

  They continued to walk the daunting length of the island that Ivy and the others had raced across in their escape. Along the way, she tried her very best to ignore the assorted ghastly footprints left behind by the horde of things that Turiel had awakened. In time they
finally reached the fort.

  “Oh,” Turiel said, shaking the frost and ice from her robes. “So good to get out of the damp.”

  Ivy peered around the interior of the fort’s first floor. It had changed greatly since her first visit. Once emptied of the twisted, shattered creatures that it had been built to contain, one could almost forget the dark origins of this place. In construction it was little more than a sturdy stone warehouse, a bit scarred from battle and discolored here or there, but otherwise indistinguishable from any innocent room in a well-built stronghold. In decoration, it was much, much different. Turiel must have gathered every last flake of thir gem and arrayed them along the ceiling and walls in artful, swirling patterns that were striking in their beauty. The fragments of stone bathed the floor in violet light, making the atmosphere feel almost cozy and welcoming. Then there was the matter of the… furniture.

  Some beasts, it seemed, were too broken to be repaired. Or perhaps their design was so bizarre and otherworldly Turiel couldn’t determine how to put the pieces together. Rather than waste them, though, she’d put them to good use. Large, smooth plates and bits of carapace had been fused together into an unnervingly… living chair. No part of it really resembled a creature anymore, but the oily black sheen and curving shapes made it look as though it might have been part of a great beetle or other insect. And as she stiffly turned to take a seat, the spindly legs uncoiled slightly, lifting the seat to meet her and easing her down again.

  She set her staff aside, a claw flicking out from beneath the seat to grasp it, then eased luxuriously back. Mott clattered across the floor and crunched his jaws around the leg of a similar, though smaller, chair and tugged it forward. It shuffled along on its remaining three legs until it was positioned behind Ivy. Mott then gave Ivy a playful nudge to the abdomen, causing her to stumble back onto the seat, which tipped her back into itself before becoming still again.

  “Now, where were we?” Turiel asked, sighing contentedly and twiddling her fingers beside the head of her staff.

  Mott took the hint and spiraled up the staff, thrusting his head out beside it to receive affection from her long, slightly split nails.

  “You were telling me about your reasons for bringing them here.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t really want to hear that story. It is a sad tale. A matter of my own concern. Nothing that should trouble you.”

  Ivy took a breath. Now was the time. “Then tell me how. How did you bring them here?”

  “Ah! A very valuable lesson. One that every D’Karon, each of their followers, and the wisest of their creations ought to know,” she said, leaning forward as if she were about to tell a beloved nursery rhyme to an eager child. “The workings of the spell are intricate, but nothing that even a novice wizard couldn’t manage. Now, repeat after me—”

  “No, no!” Ivy said. “That, uh… that part can wait. I’m more interested in how you brought them here. The story of when you cast the spell.”

  “Ah… I suppose an example or two makes the lesson easier to learn. It was many years ago, after my sister died… Again, that is a matter of my own concern. But I was seeking answers, hoping to reach out to her, to learn what happened to her, and how I might right the wrongs surrounding her death, or at least to finish those things she had started. As far into the beyond I reached, though, I could not sense her. So I pressed on, pierced deeper. I probed the veil, stretched it and explored it. There were so many voices. Each night there were more. The ranting of a thousand new spirits joined the chorus whenever I learned a new technique or tightened my mind about the task with renewed strength. But never was there a voice that was familiar. Never was there a voice that was hers.

  “In time, though, I reached a place in my searching, in my listening, that was quiet. I had thought I’d reached beyond the beyond, past where even the most far-flung of spirits might wander… but then I heard it. A whispering voice, a yearning will. It was seeking someone, anyone, to listen. I did not understand the words, but night after night I sought it again. And somehow without understanding, there came knowledge. I learned the spell, the keyhole. It was so simple, so elegant, and yet so profound in its power and brilliance. And with it came the promise of more if only I could cast this first spell. I knew that this knowledge came from those who might help me finally tend to the matter of my sister properly.

  “The instructions were simple. First find a place safe from those who might seek to break the spell. Someplace no one would ever go on their own, yet a place strong with magic. The Ancients were the natural choice, in the Dagger Gale Mountains. It took me… oh… I imagine it was over a century to gather the strength to finally open the keyhole. And the best place I could find in Tressor was not nearly so potent, so it is taking ages longer, but someone with your power, and your connection to the D’Karon, could surely open it far more swiftly…”

  Turiel trailed off, her eyes suddenly wide with realization.

  “You… you could help me.” The necromancer was inspired, almost giddy with the prospect of joining forces with Ivy.

  “Perhaps… perhaps if you told me where the keyhole was…”

  “Tell you! If I had the strength to spare at the moment I would just take you. Even with you, it could take years, but I know together we could do it.”

  “But if you could just tell me, perhaps we could go together and… is something wrong?”

  The joyful expression was slowly fading and her eyes were drifting aside. She looked as though she’d heard a curious sound and was trying to determine its source.

  “That’s intense… a pinpoint of magic…” she said vaguely. “And coming quite swiftly and quite directly.”

  Ivy began to feel something as well. The air had a tingle and a vitality to it. She realized that the sensation was familiar, and at this moment she wasn’t certain if she was relieved or panicked.

  “Ether…” Ivy said.

  “Ether… Ether. Mott, from where do we know that name?”

  Mott chittered and spiraled down the staff to dart to the doorway.

  “Yes,” Turiel said. “Yes, the shapeshifter we were told about.” She turned to Ivy and narrowed her eyes. “Another one of the adversaries… Did you lead her here?”

  “No. I assure you, I didn’t lead them here, but when you use your magic to move from place to place, we can detect it. That’s how I found you, and I promise, that’s how she found you.”

  “And what will she do when she gets here?”

  “She’s the one who destroyed this place to begin with.”

  Turiel’s chair thrust upward, and Ivy’s did the same, standing them up and leaving them face to face. She grasped her staff and glared at Ivy.

  “And what will you do when she gets here?” Turiel asked.

  “I’ll help you. I’ll hold her at bay. I’ll reason with her. I’ll do whatever you need me to do, but only if you tell me where the second keyhole is.”

  The necromancer glared at her, stricken with indecision. “I want desperately to believe you, but I do not know how much of their treachery clings to your mind. … And I’m concerned for the strength it may take to defend myself against a foe strong enough to banish the D’Karon.”

  Ivy clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. Her heart was fluttering in her chest, and flares of blue were beginning to mix with the violet light of the room.

  “Then let me help you,” Ivy said.

  The wind outside seemed to have reversed itself, shifting from blowing behind the fort to rushing in through its door. Turiel’s gray and black hair streamed and her tattered robes billowed, but she gazed, unblinking.

  “I need to know what you know. And you need to know what I know. You’ve offered me the benefit of your strength. I believe, if you are sincere, I have a solution for each of us… But it will require trust.”

  Ivy looked to the door. She could hear the unnatural whistle of Ether’s windy form approaching. There was no telling what Ether would do, but she ver
y much doubted the elemental would control herself, even if she knew that crucial information could only be found in Turiel’s mind.

  “If you feel you can trust me, then I can trust you. But please, for both of our sakes, hurry!” Ivy said.

  “Then you have both my thanks and my apologies. But rest assured that you will recover. I would never damage so perfect a creature as you.”

  Ivy held her breath, unsure of what to expect. Mott galloped over to her and curled his tail around her, chittering sweetly and rubbing his head on her in what felt curiously like an emotional goodbye. Turiel gently placed her hand on Ivy’s head…

  In the same moment, there was everything and there was nothing. She saw her life, what she could remember of it and brief instants of the pieces she’d had stripped from her, fill her mind. Mingled among the memories and visions were alien thoughts and feelings, moments of another life. Moments of Turiel’s life.

  The torrent of feelings, memories, and emotions was almost enough to overcome her on its own, but as two lives flashed before her eyes, a third sensation asserted itself. She could feel her strength wicking away. Her eyes locked on those of the necromancer, the room for once brilliantly lit by Ivy’s icy-blue aura. Years were melting away from the woman. Black once again whisked away the gray in her hair. Lines faded to smooth, flawless skin. Fueled by the rush of energy spilling from Ivy, the woman was restored from someone beginning to bend under the weight of the years to someone in the prime of life.

  Turiel’s hand lifted away, and Ivy felt the room spin around her. She felt drained and drawn; her mind was swimming. The assault had pushed her to the very brink of unconsciousness, but as she stumbled back, Mott scuttled behind and helped keep her on her feet while the renewed and invigorated Turiel stepped toward her.

  “I wish you a swift recovery, and know that your strength will not go to waste,” Turiel said.